of some very ugly vermin?"
Before the young girl could say another word, Miss Porter rushed forward. "My lord, I am sorry that you weren't made aware of our arrival last night, but your butler assured us—"
Birdwell!
Jack's gaze swiveled in the man's direction, but the cagey fellow was busy tidying up the already perfectly set sideboard. Oh, yes, this certainly smacked of his meddling. If his brother wasn't pestering him to marry, Birdwell was always making it a point to mention the need for a mistress in the house.
A legitimate and properly married one.
Meanwhile Miss Porter was still nattering on. "—for you see we were caught in the storm and your secretary was reluctant—"
To have anyone about
, Jack would guess. By nature Bruno Jones wasn't the trusting type, least of all of women; the man had an unholy fear of the feminine sex, ladies especially.
"—but then your kind butler assured us—"
Leave it to Birdwell to ride to the rescue.
And risk so much. Jack's panic returned tenfold. If one of them took a wrong turn or overheard anything… Or worse, if Dash arrived…
"—I assure you, we had no intention of being—"
"Madame," he said, interrupting her before she could get any further in her polite explanation. "You and your charges are not welcome here. I want you to leave at once."
One of the girls, a tall, blonde creature, gasped at such outright rudeness, while the other pair—twins by looks of them—shared a determined glance that only spelled trouble.
And made him even more resolute to be rid of this pack of females and their toplofty dog.
"Our apologies, my lord," Miss Porter said, gathering her composure together with the dignity of a queen, all the while shooing her charges toward the door—most likely before he said something truly untoward. "We will be gone within the hour and intrude upon your… your…
hospitality
no longer."
The ice in her words would have chilled every bottle in White's cavernous and renowned cellars.
"Without breakfast?" the tall one whispered to Miss Porter.
"Yes, Pippin," her teacher replied in a tight voice. "Without breakfast. One doesn't remain were she is unwanted. We will be gone before his lordship decides to call the magistrate on us for pinching the sausages and rolls Mr. Birdwell went to so much trouble to provide."
Oh, he'd forgotten how peevish a woman could get. Not to mention the twinge of guilt he felt upon spying what appeared to be tears in this Pippin's big blue eyes over the loss of her breakfast.
Tears! Oh, gads, not tears from some soon-to-be debutante. A woman's tears he could guard against (well, at least he told himself he could), but a young girl's watering eyes were enough to melt his resolve.
No, he was made of sterner stuff. He was disreputable. A ruined man, living a lonely, bitter exile. Jack wasn't about to be turned by the sight of a girl's tears.
And over sausages, of all things!
"Yes, well, see that you are gone by then," he told Miss Porter, pointing at the clock on the mantel as if to mark their agreement. "Or I will send for the magistrate."
"Really, milord. Without their breakfast?" Birdwell interjected, echoing Pippin's lament and stepping into their guests' paths. "It seems a dreadful waste—"
Jack's jaw worked back and forth. Then he made the mistake of looking over at Pippin, with her great big dewy blue eyes.
"Fine," he ground out. "Breakfast for our guests. But then please see that Miss Porter and these young ladies are well on their way to—"
"To your folly," one of the twins said brightly.
"My what?"
"Your folly." The girl had the cheek to sidestep her teacher and bound forward.
Jack suspected he was standing before one of the future patronesses of Almack's or some other denizen of Society. Give this chit a few years and she'd have the
ton
following in her determined wake.
"We are quite keen on sketching your tower," she said. Really, it was more of a command than a request.
And he wasn't about to be
Before the young girl could say another word, Miss Porter rushed forward. "My lord, I am sorry that you weren't made aware of our arrival last night, but your butler assured us—"
Birdwell!
Jack's gaze swiveled in the man's direction, but the cagey fellow was busy tidying up the already perfectly set sideboard. Oh, yes, this certainly smacked of his meddling. If his brother wasn't pestering him to marry, Birdwell was always making it a point to mention the need for a mistress in the house.
A legitimate and properly married one.
Meanwhile Miss Porter was still nattering on. "—for you see we were caught in the storm and your secretary was reluctant—"
To have anyone about
, Jack would guess. By nature Bruno Jones wasn't the trusting type, least of all of women; the man had an unholy fear of the feminine sex, ladies especially.
"—but then your kind butler assured us—"
Leave it to Birdwell to ride to the rescue.
And risk so much. Jack's panic returned tenfold. If one of them took a wrong turn or overheard anything… Or worse, if Dash arrived…
"—I assure you, we had no intention of being—"
"Madame," he said, interrupting her before she could get any further in her polite explanation. "You and your charges are not welcome here. I want you to leave at once."
One of the girls, a tall, blonde creature, gasped at such outright rudeness, while the other pair—twins by looks of them—shared a determined glance that only spelled trouble.
And made him even more resolute to be rid of this pack of females and their toplofty dog.
"Our apologies, my lord," Miss Porter said, gathering her composure together with the dignity of a queen, all the while shooing her charges toward the door—most likely before he said something truly untoward. "We will be gone within the hour and intrude upon your… your…
hospitality
no longer."
The ice in her words would have chilled every bottle in White's cavernous and renowned cellars.
"Without breakfast?" the tall one whispered to Miss Porter.
"Yes, Pippin," her teacher replied in a tight voice. "Without breakfast. One doesn't remain were she is unwanted. We will be gone before his lordship decides to call the magistrate on us for pinching the sausages and rolls Mr. Birdwell went to so much trouble to provide."
Oh, he'd forgotten how peevish a woman could get. Not to mention the twinge of guilt he felt upon spying what appeared to be tears in this Pippin's big blue eyes over the loss of her breakfast.
Tears! Oh, gads, not tears from some soon-to-be debutante. A woman's tears he could guard against (well, at least he told himself he could), but a young girl's watering eyes were enough to melt his resolve.
No, he was made of sterner stuff. He was disreputable. A ruined man, living a lonely, bitter exile. Jack wasn't about to be turned by the sight of a girl's tears.
And over sausages, of all things!
"Yes, well, see that you are gone by then," he told Miss Porter, pointing at the clock on the mantel as if to mark their agreement. "Or I will send for the magistrate."
"Really, milord. Without their breakfast?" Birdwell interjected, echoing Pippin's lament and stepping into their guests' paths. "It seems a dreadful waste—"
Jack's jaw worked back and forth. Then he made the mistake of looking over at Pippin, with her great big dewy blue eyes.
"Fine," he ground out. "Breakfast for our guests. But then please see that Miss Porter and these young ladies are well on their way to—"
"To your folly," one of the twins said brightly.
"My what?"
"Your folly." The girl had the cheek to sidestep her teacher and bound forward.
Jack suspected he was standing before one of the future patronesses of Almack's or some other denizen of Society. Give this chit a few years and she'd have the
ton
following in her determined wake.
"We are quite keen on sketching your tower," she said. Really, it was more of a command than a request.
And he wasn't about to be
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